


Derek is a Man/Wolf of Many Talents

by Sterek_ed (Thorki_ed)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ALL OF THE OCCUPATIONS!, Crack, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mall Cop, Only common element is internal dialogue between Stiles and his weewee, Scuba Diver - Freeform, Therapy, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorki_ed/pseuds/Sterek_ed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which I write a series of short fics explaining how Derek is very talented  in his many, many professions that we dream about him in (mechanic, librarian, etc.). Each chapter is a STAND-ALONE, unrelated, and takes place in a different universe, please see notes at the beginning of each chapter! Feel free to comment with suggestions of occupations you'd like to see Derek in, and ignore the fact that the fic says completed, more chapters will definitely be added!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. JOB #1: Yoga Instructor

**Author's Note:**

> So far:  
> Chapter 1: Yoga Instructor (Teen)  
> Chapter 2: Therapist (NC-17)  
> Chapter 3: Scuba Instructor (Teen)  
> Chapter 4: Mall Cop (Teen)  
> Chapter 5: Baker (Teen)
> 
> More to come!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fairly canon (by the fandom standards), no surprises!  
> (Teen + audiences, crack/humour, UST)

Needless to say, it was _really_ surprising to the three of them when they walked into the new yoga studio and _Derek_ fucking _Hale_ was standing at the front, giving instructions to his class to cool down and clear out.

It takes Stiles approximately one second to take in the fact that Derek is wearing black shorts that are about as tight as his jeans (pretty tight) and a grey work-out top with no sleeves to show off his arms that are bigger than Stiles’ head (pretty big). Stiles’ cock gives a twitch to say _I’m interested._

 _Not now,_ Stiles thinks.

To his cock. He groans at the fact that he’s just had a chit-chat with his own dick, and that they’ve unknowingly signed up for yoga classes with the grouchiest person Stiles has ever met _and_ the fact that Scott and Allison don’t even care because they’re eating each other’s faces off!

Seriously? What the fuck is his life?

He feels it, the moment they enter the room – he can _feel_ Derek’s _I’m-gonna-rip-your-throat-out_ stare and when he looks up at their instructor, he sees the teeth to match the threat.

He gives a bright smile and a wave. Because he’s an idiot and doesn’t know what else to do. Derek continues to stare, with the scowliest scowl that Stiles has ever seen. He winced, like Derek’s face has physically assaulted him or something. He settles for shrugging and just pointing at Scott like _it’s his fault!_

Derek’s nostrils flare slightly as he tries to regulate his breathing. This was supposed to be his _zen._ His _garden of tranquility_. His _private keeping calm space_. Stiles being in the same vicinity was already fucking around with his chakras.

He grumbled, but kept his appearance up for the rest of the students. Repeating his introduction, he left off by saying, “There should be _no_ talking as you will _disturb the peace of everyone in the room_.” He threw a pointed look at Stiles.

The first position was easy, simple stretching. He demonstrated, lowering himself onto the mat on his stomach, and raised his arms to arch his back. Closing his eyes, he breathed, counting out loud for everyone to hear the process. He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. It seemed his class wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

_YEAH RIGHT._

“Humans are not supposed to bend like this,” he whispered to Scott, who was no having no problems at all. Well, he was having the staring-at-Allison’s-ass-and-therefore-not-listening-to-Stiles problem.

“Is it supposed to feel like my shoulder is being dislocated?” He whispered, face smushed against the mat.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Stiles says, just for fun.

“Shhhhh,” about eighteen of the other students say. There’s only twenty of them. Two of them *cough*SCOTTANDALLISON*cough* are busy making googly oogly eyes at each other.

“Gnah!” he all but screams when Derek lifts him up by the scruff of his neck.

“ _Disturbing. Everyone. In. Room,”_ Derek growls before depositing Stiles on his butt.

He’s about to say something, but Derek looks _seriously_ murderous  and Stiles has never been _this_ afraid of Derek, including the time the wolf smashed his face into a steering wheel. So, he settles for half-assing the moves and keeping quiet because as Derek continues to teach, Stiles realizes that this yoga thing is like, the most important of Derek’s life. Really, how does he _bend_ like that when there’s so much stupid muscle in the way? How? How is Derek that flexible?

It doesn’t hurt that Derek actually looks _content_ when he’s all pretzel-like, arms and legs twisting in ways they shouldn’t be twisting. There comes a point where Derek almost does the splits before bending forward, and Stiles starts by looking at Derek’s mouth moving, explaining what the stretch feels like, blah blah blah, but then he follows to up Derek’s head, all along his back and the perfectly rounded shape of Derek’s ass way up in the air and _wow. Okay._

 _I’m still interested_ , his cock reminds him with more than a little twitch.

Stiles is going to die of embarrassment if he just sits cross-legged on his mat, so he quickly struggles to stretch his legs as wide as they go (pitiful attempt, really) and bends over. His back cricks a few times like he’s shattered all the bones in his body and the _burn_ in his legs is intense.

“A little further,” Derek’s voice suddenly encourages. Stiles is glad his hands are bracing the ground or else he would’ve fallen over. He feels Derek grab his left thigh (thank _god_ he’s hanging to the right today) and slowly pulls out. Stiles can feel more pain on the inside of his thighs now and goes to mouth Derek off, but that perfectly round ass is already moving away.

Stiles curses him and makes it his mission to fuck up Derek’s feng-shui in any way he can.

“Scott, we need to break into Derek’s loft,” he whispers.

“What, why?” Scott asks in alarm.

“I need to move some fishbowls around.”


	2. JOB #2: Therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairly canon, takes place after season 3, basically (post-nogitsune). Crack/humour, & smut, woo!   
> (NC-17, frottage, handjobs)

He can’t believe his dad is actually leaving him stranded here with a stranger.

_“Dad! Come on! You’re a cop! Don’t you know what happens to ripe teenagers who are left alone with strange people?”_

Since he was currently tapping his knees impatiently in the waiting space, you can see that his comment didn’t change the sheriff’s mind.

“Mr. Stilinski, the doctor will see you now,” the lady behind the desk says without even looking up.

He enters the small room and closes the door behind him. His jaw drops to the floor when he sees the person sitting behind the desk.

“What in the actual fuck is going on. Is my dad playing a joke on me? Am I being PUNK’D?”

“Pretty sure Ashton Kutcher only PUNK’s famous people. You’re not famous. Sit down.”

No way. No way is he going to talk about _feelings_ to Derek Hale, the _least_ feel-y person possible. Seriously, how ill-suiting could this job be for him?

“Listen Grumpy Wolf, I am not about to talk to you about my _feelings_ because you don’t even know what feelings are!”

Derek, Stiles has to give him credit for, is unmoving. Sure, his face is always stoic, but today it looks a little softer. It must be the glasses.

“Since when do you wear glasses?” he blurted out. I mean, they looked hella good on him, but werewolves have perfect vision, don’t they?

Derek shrugged noncommittally before taking them off. “People make judgements all the time, the glasses give them more assurance for some reason.”

“So you admit you’re not actually qualified for the job.”

“No, I’m telling you people are quick to judge.”

They stared, and Stiles won’t admit to losing the staring contest, but _the point is_ he’s still not going to trust Derek.

“No.”

“Your dad paid me for a full hour and he’s not coming back until then. You can either lie to him and tell him you’ve made progress or you can actually use his money wisely.”

“Or I can tell him he signed me up for a phony of a therapist!”

“He knows exactly what he paid for.”

“HE – what? He _what_?! He knew it was you?”

“Of course he knew it was me. Stiles, how many people do you think know about the things we do, hmm? You really think your dad would send to you someone who has no idea about our situation? He _sought me out_ because he knows I have the experience, both with the supernatural and with therapy.”

“Then why do you never talk about your feelings, huh?”

“This session isn’t about me, Stiles. Tell me how you’re coping, and try not to lie,” he added, pointing to his ears. “So Stiles, is there something I can help you with?”

Stiles sighed. Derek had a point, but Stiles hated it when Derek was right. “I’m just kind of slipping back into the old times. After my mom died. It’s nothing I haven’t been through already.”

“Every person goes through a series of events that make up their life,” Derek begins slowly. “These events are what make the individual unique – nobody experiences the same things at the same times in the same manner. And each occurrence is different in its own way. I think you’re experiencing something else, Stiles.”

 _Damn,_ Derek might have been better at this than he thought.

“How did you become a therapist?” Stiles asked suddenly.

Derek blinked, and for a moment it didn’t look like he would answer. “I had a lot of time in New York. I went to a therapist myself, and decided I liked the idea of helping people through their own problems. My sister always said I was very perceptive.”

Stiles almost wanted to laugh because that was _not_ the Derek Hale he knew, but here, in this setting, it was different. He was just reluctant to admit to it.

“So by night time you threaten to kill people and by day, you’re a cool, calm and collected problem-solver?”

“I bartend on the weekends,” Derek adds.

Stiles gapes and squints his eyes at Derek who does nothing but _smile innocently_ back at him. That little shit. Derek _bartending?_ Is it disturbing that Stiles is _really turned on_ right now?

“Stiles,” Derek says in a way that’s almost physically nudging him in the shoulder to continue.

“Yes, therapist bartending wolf?”

“You mentioned you were having a hard time?”

_Yes, a hard time._

_Very hard._

_So hard._

“Derek, this isn’t going to work,” Stiles finally says flat out. He could have sworn that Derek looked a little hurt.

The man sighed. “Stiles, I’m telling you I’m the most qualified to help you with your situation.”

_Yes you are._

_Yes, he is!_ His dick decides to add.

“No, I’m not questioning your credentials, but the fact of the matter is, I really want you to put those glasses back on, or maybe tell me where you bartend on the weekend because it’s currently fueling my sexual fantasies.”

_Wow. That non-existent brain-to-mouth-filter. Just wow._

Derek arches a perfect eyebrow and Stiles is going to cry.

_Me too._

_Dick, shut up._

Stiles can’t fucking believe it, but Derek is actually putting the glasses back on. Oh jesus.

“Stiles, is there something that I can help with,” Derek repeats, his voice a lot deeper and more predator-like.  

_Me! Me! Me!_

“Um, my dick is currently volunteering as tribute,” Stiles fumbles _. Fix that_ _fiiiiiiiiiilterrrrrrrrrrrr_ his mind screams as a memo to himself.

Derek slowly rises out of his chair and without looking, manages to grab the chain behind him and pulls down, shutting the blinds.

 _Wowowowowow that’s hot_ , Stiles thinks before he decides he is all on board with this plan. He leaps out of his own chair, knocking it over before clambering over the desk. In his mess of uncoordinated limbs, he’s aware he’s knocking things like pens and pencils over, but Derek hasn’t growled at him yet, so it’s okay. Derek surges forward to meet Stiles’ lips with his own and the kiss is rushed and sloppy and _absolutely delicious_. His hands are groping around for Derek’s _anything_ and find a place on his shoulders. Derek leans forward to grab Stiles’ still-flailing legs and pulls them up. In the swift movement, he’s placed Stiles on his lap, where the younger man can feel Derek’s erection through their pants.

“Derek,” he mumbles, hands crawling along Derek’s biceps, chest, anywhere his hands want to go. He strokes down both of Derek’s sides and finds the bottom of Derek’s shirt, which he wrestles off.

God, Derek’s chest is _amazing_. His fingers explore every hard edge of muscle Derek has, and he can feel the erection beneath him twitching with anticipation. Derek nips at his bottom lip and starts to unbutton Stiles’ pants.

Derek’s skin is so warm along his hands, he reaches behind his head to yank off his own shirt in one jerky motion and plasters himself against the human furnace. He shivers at the contact alone and squirms impatiently as Derek palms him through his boxers.

“More, more, more,” he all but whines. He’s mouthing Derek’s neck and collarbones – _sweet baby jesus_ – and gives an experimental bite into Derek’s shoulder. It feels good, hearing Derek emit a hiss of pleasure. Derek’s still going torturously slowly, his own tongue running up Stiles’ neck before nibbling on his ear.

Stiles makes quick work of Derek’s button and zipper, fumbling as his hands are moving faster than his brain is tripping over itself, thinking.

Rational part of brain: Methodically, thumb and forefinger should be used to grab the fabric around the button, pulling upward to stretch the hole over the button and away from the body.

Other part of brain: _STRETCH THE HOLE_

Hands: jeanbuttonholefabricholebutton?

And of course –

Cock: Hi! I’m having a wonderful time!

Regardless, he _miraculously_ gets the fucking thing open and the heavy heat of Derek’s cock in his hands makes him want to come right then and there.

“Derek, I’m so fucking close,” he murmurs into the meaty flesh of Derek’s shoulder, where there may or may not be some drool.

Derek slaps gently at Stiles’ wrists away, but the younger man is determined. He fishes Derek’s cock out of his briefs and grips, hard enough that he hears Derek hiss again. He starts slowly stroking before quickly matching Derek’s pace.

“Stiles,” he growls as he takes both their cocks and pumps together, sliding them in the slick of their pre-come. The added friction and heat from Derek’s cock makes Stiles gasp and shudder as he rides out his orgasm. He’s sensitive and Derek continues to glide his hand up and down, making Stiles continuously shiver and tremble in Derek’s lap. He has to cling onto Derek’s shoulders for support, whimpering as Derek strokes him through it before finally releasing his own orgasm.

Stiles can see that Derek’s biting his own bottom lip to prevent making any noise besides his struggled breath, his canines slightly elongated. Stiles leans in for another kiss, tongue poking out tentatively to lick at Derek’s lip to clean up any blood.

They continue to come down from their high, breathing slowly becoming more even. He rests his slightly sweaty forehead against Derek’s, but his _therapist_ didn’t seem to mind.

Derek clears his throat. “Stiles, the hour’s almost up.”

Stiles gives a small nod, swallowing before getting off of Derek’s lap onto trembling legs. Derek keeps a supporting arm around the brunette to keep him from falling over. The office is a complete mess, with their shirts strewn on the floor, chair knocked over and various stationary all over.

“Um, sorry,” Stiles says sheepishly as he pulls his shirt over his head. The look on Derek’s face tells him he doesn’t have to be.

“What are you going to tell your father?” he asks, looking slightly worried, straightening himself out as well.

“That I’ve made excellent progress and to book you again for next week.”


	3. JOB #3: Scuba Instructor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human AU where Stiles and Danny are bffs and decide to go scuba-diving. Really short one here, but it's 2:30AM and ily so have a ficlet.  
> (Teen)

“Jesus wouldja look at that,” he says to Danny. The taller man leans to see what’s in Stiles’ line of sight. He lets out a low whistle.

“Dang, that is one nice specimen,” he tells Stiles, still strapping on his flippers.

“All right everyone, make sure you’ve strapped on your gear appropriately. Ethan and I will come around to double check before we hit the waters,” said specimen announced in an impossibly sexy, rich voice.

“Think he’d swing my way?” he asks Danny, also known as the Super Accurate Walking Gaydar.

Danny checks him out a bit more before shrugging a bit. “One of the harder ones to read, I’ll admit, but I think he’s got a thing for pale dudes under 160 pounds.”

“What the – what kind of bullshit are you spewing? How does one even know that? One does not simply know that by looking at someone.”

“I can. Because he’s staring right at you.”

“He –” Stiles stops to turn around and yep, their ultimate hottie of a scuba diving instructor was making his way over and staring straight at Stiles.

“Uhhhh,” he heard himself say dumbly. Making a conscious effort, he closed his mouth. Consider that he was sitting down and their instructor was standing so his bulge was _perfectly in Stiles’ face_ , it was damn hard.

“Just trying to make sure you don’t drown,” he explained, fiddling with the tank on Stiles’ back. “Air line didn’t seem secure.”

“Th-thanks,” Stiles stuttered.

Derek gave a nod before checking over Danny, who didn’t even _try_ to keep his eyes off Derek’s budge. After the both of them were OK’d, Danny turned to Stiles. “Sure is packing,” he said with a wink.

“Go away, I saw him first,” Stiles protested, sounding much like a five year old.

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got my eyes set elsewhere,” he assures Stiles, his eyes drifting over to the other instructor.

“I love you, Danny.”

“That’s really gay, Stiles,” he says, deadpanned. The two of them burst out laughing. He can’t wait to see Derek in that tight suit _and_ soaking wet. He jumps in the water before anyone can see the excitement.


	4. JOB 4: Mall Cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Stiles and Danny are openly gay best friends and Stiles threatens to kill Danny for his meddling.  
> Rated: Teen  
> For the lovely [LadyX](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyX/pseuds/LadyX), I'm sorry if I didn't do it justice!

"Danny."

“Stiles.”

“Danny, I have a weakness for men in uniform.”

Danny looks at Stiles and takes it all in. He’s so _still_ that it freaks Danny right the fuck out – his eyes are wide and unblinking, mouth in a little ‘o’ and the slushie he’d been drinking is ever so slowly sliding down in his hand.

“Dude,” Danny says, snapping beside Stiles face. He’s confused by Stiles’ sudden stillness so he gives up and steps beside him to stare at whatever Stiles is staring at – and _wow._

“Stiles, I have a weakness for men who look like _that_.”

 _That_ means built like a brickhouse. The black slacks are the perfect length, and Danny starts the show from the bottom and, you know, Danny’s always been one of those _you-know-what-they-say-about-guys-with-big-feet-;) guys._ Wink face included.

It’s when Danny’s eyes hit the man’s thighs that he knows he’s in serious trouble. “Stiles are you seeing his _thighs_?” he asks. He knows the answer of course, since Stiles has been record-still for several minutes now (which is more or less just as alarming as the definition of this guy's thighs).

“The way they’re perfectly sculpted to perfection by the perfect Michelangelo out of the most perfectly tanned clay on this Earth? Yeah dude, I’m all over it.”

“You _wish_ ,” Danny mutters as he eyes the waist of the mall cop as he was gesturing with his hands to the woman in front of her, presumably giving directions.

“Yeah. Yeah I do,” Stiles admitted, worrying his lip between his teeth as if trying not to pounce on the poor man.

The uniform called for a vest, which the cop actually made look fairly small. His broad shoulders were a testimony to how big the guy was, his arms flexing as he carried on with his _very_ descriptive hand gestures.  As he then pointed to the other side of the mall (which was in the direction of the gaping pair), Danny saw the multitude of colours in the man’s eyes, framed by dark features – good god, what a beard!

“Stiles, I’m in trouble.”

“I’ve been in trouble for the past ten minutes.”

“You’ve been holding out on me for like, eight minutes?!”

“Finders keepers,” Stiles said stubbornly.

Danny, sly as he was, started walking casually toward the cop.

“ _Danny!_ ” Stiles hissed.

He was almost to his (sweet, beautiful) goal, when all of a sudden Stiles’ hand clamped down on his arm and tried to drag him back.

“Danny, I swear to god –”

"Get your goddamn –”

“I’m serious, Danny!”

“Is there a problem here boys?” The two froze still as they heard the deep voice. Danny, excitedly, and Stiles, worriedly, turned around to face the most intense gaze they’ve ever faced in their life.

“Uh, no, sir, um –”

“I have no idea who this is…” Danny stated, looking at the mall cop’s name tag. “Derek. He just grabbed me for no reason.”

Stiles shot Danny a panicked look. “ _Danny!”_

“Seriously, this guy has been following me around the mall all day,” Danny defended. Derek eyed them both.

“I’m going to need both of you to provide me with your information,” Derek said calmly, reaching for his notepad. Stiles, in shock, stood, mouth agape as he murdered Danny with his eyes. _Stab stab stab stab stab._ Danny, on the other hand, looked more pleased than he had any right to be. Derek handed the notepad to Stiles first.

Fuming, Stiles took the pen and wrote down shakily _Stiles Stilinksi_ before grudgingly writing down his number and address too. Then he passed the notepad to Danny with an extra side of super-vicious glaring. Danny accepted and wrote down something as well.

 _Sorry about that. This is my friend Stiles from school and he’s been ogling you for twenty minutes. Please call this number._ And then he proceeded to draw an arrow to point to Stiles’ number. He handed the little book back to Derek, gaging his reaction. First, there was a small squint, his eyebrows coming together. Then, Derek looked around at the prying eyes around. “Nothing to see here, folks,” he declared, dispersing the stubborn crowd with a cock of his _magnificent_ eyebrows. Stiles was surprised he was being let off the hook, but he figured maybe Derek saw his last name and connected it to the Sheriff? Maybe?

“There are easier ways to do this, y’know,” Derek said in an amused tone before tapping at his notepad. Stiles caught a glimpse of what Danny had written and felt his face light on fire before Derek shook his head with a smile and wandered off to carry on his duties.

“ _I’m going to fucking kill you,”_ Stiles seethed as they left the mall, Danny tearing with laughter every time he looked at Stiles' tomato/hot sauce face.

However, when Derek called him the next day, Stiles showered Danny with little pecks on the face and bone-crushing hugs before the taller man threatened to never be nice to Stiles again.


	5. JOB 5: Baker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles gets horny for food baked by the love of his stupid life and then gets horny for said baker

“ _This_ is a bakery?” Stiles asked in a mix of awe and confusion.

“Yeah?” Scott answered noncommittally. “Allison says it’s actually quite nice, if you can get over the… aesthetic.”

Stiles’ face contorted into further confusion. He was still getting used to the daily dictionary-reading Scott was doing, which Scott called “studying”.

“The looks, I mean,” Scott elaborated.

“I know what it means,” Stiles retorted with a flick to Scott’s ear as they entered the shady place. Shady was almost a generous term – it was dimly lit, the walls were a pale grey, like the colour of ash. It was a small place with a few tables and chairs on one side and a bar, lined with stools, along the opposite wall. The chairs were made of wood, but seemed to be in need of new paint… and varnish… and maybe they just needed new chairs. It seemed like the place was kept together just enough to serve customers. For like, a few minutes.

It wasn’t that it was _bad_ , just… unkempt? The chairs were mismatched, as though the owner replaced worn out ones with anything they could find.

But, the glass display beside the register really caught Stiles’ eye. The glass was clear and shined to perfection, with a variety of sweets lined up in pristine little rows, frosting on the cupcakes a perfect match. Cookies, scones, tarts, cakes, almost every delectable sweet Stiles could think of, was lined up in front of him.

“Dude, you okay?” Scott’s voice brought him back to reality.

“I want one of everything,” Stiles declared.

“Do you have, I don’t know, like three hundred dollars?” Scott jokingly sneered. He went up to the register and rang the little silver bell beside it.

“One sec!” came a deep, male voice. There came a metallic clang in the kitchen before the shuffling of feet became louder.

“What can I get for you?” he asked as he came into view, wiping his hands on his apron. Stiles was surprised for a second, as he imagined the creator of these delicate treats to be a woman (with very small, steady hands).  Yet, here stood a tall, well-muscled man who had clearly come from the kitchen and my god was he even more delicious-looking than his desserts. _I was so wrong about aprons being a womanly thing, god, so, so wrong. Aprons are amazing. So hot. Wait, is there such thing as an apron kink? Shit, do I have an apron kink????_

 _*twitch*_ goes dick!

“Stiles?”

“Hmm?”

“You gonna order?” Scott nudged.

“Oh, um, no,” Stiles blurted. “I mean, no thanks, I’m uh – I’m good.”

Scott raised his eyebrows in wonder whereas the baker’s face showed just a hint of disappointment before he shrugged before turning back to the kitchen. Scott led them over to the table on the opposite side.

“What was that?” Scott asked with an intense look.

“What was what?” Stiles dodged.

“You were just telling me you wanted one of everything!” Scott exclaimed. “And then you don’t order anything?”

“Look, I panicked, okay!” Stiles hissed through gritted teeth. He looked back to the counter to make sure he wouldn’t be heard. “I wasn’t expecting… _that_.”

“What, a guy? Stiles, that’s a bit sexist don’t you think?”

Stiles face-palmed. “Not that! I mean, at first I thought it would be a girl just because the details looked like they needed dainty lady hands but that’s not the point, it’s not that the fact that it was a dude, it was the fact that it was _that_ dude.”

Scott stared at Stiles for a second as the latter shifted through a series of _you-get-what-I’m-saying-yet_ faces.

After what seemed like _an eternity_ Scott’s face finally formed an “:O” before Stiles nodded vigorously.

“Man, I really wish I got something, now that my brain’s functioning again.”

“Then… do it?”

Stiles sighed. “Scott you don’t get it, I’m going to see his stupidly handsome face and my tongue will literally fall out of my mouth again.”

“Er, well I don’t think it will _literally_ fall out of –”

“Scott, it _will_ actually, _literally_ fall out of my mouth,” Stiles insisted. This was no time for a vocabulary lesson, sheesh. He was glad Scott didn’t challenge it this time.

A ding of the bell told them that the baker had returned with Scott’s order, which made Stiles incredibly jealous in that moment. The platter had a steaming mug of tea, a plate of three cookies and a generous slice of lemon meringue pie.

“Thanks!” Scott’s eyes were hungrily roaming over the plate. After a few seconds of visually devouring his food, he remembered manners or something. “Derek, right?” 

Derek (right?) nodded his head, hand (with sprinkles of residue flour) extended. Scott took it anyway. “Scott. Allison’s been recommending this place to me for a while.”

Derek’s lips twitched in a bit of a smile. “Tell her I say thanks. Even if she’s doing it to piss her aunt off, I’m sure.”

Scott’s eyebrows did a motion, which Stiles interpreted to be _why-do-you-know-so-much-about-my-girlfriend_ but also _what-do-you-mean-by-that_. Derek may or may not have noticed, but turned to Stiles instead.

_Dick: introduce me!_

“This is Stiles, by the way,” Scott said after Stile’s mouth opened and closed without a word.

_Scott is the most fabulous being alive and when I die I’m going to leave every gaming console I own to him because he’s the love of my life dear god_

Stiles swallowed thickly as Derek again extended his hand. It really shouldn’t have been a big deal, it was a handshake for crying out loud. So he went for it, hoping his hand wouldn’t actually shake, and remembered what his dad had taught him about a respectful, manly handshake. Firm, sure, and brief with eye contact. Right.

Except that his hand felt jelly in Derek’s strong grip, and his eye contact faltered because Derek’s eyes were too intense and his hand felt trapped in a wall of heat. He was fairly certain his hands were clammy, even if their shake only lasted a second.

“Stiles here would _really_ like some of your carrot cake, Derek,” Scott said.

Stiles made _what-are-you-doing-?-!_ eyes at him and got a majestic eye roll in response.

“Sure thing,” Derek said easily, as if he had indecisive, supposedly mute, awkward customers all the time. When he disappeared again, Stiles felt like he could breathe.

“Scott.”

“Stiles.”

“ _Scott._ ”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“I’m helping you,” Scott says nonchalantly before they returned to their quiet table. In that moment, another pair walked in. Derek returned at the sound of the bell, and quickly grabbed their treats from the display case before placing them in a box to go. There was a clang as some change dropped in Derek’s tip jar before he graciously thanked them and returned to work in the kitchen.

“Order up,” Derek’s voice rang, Stiles’ cake on a tray with a steaming mug of tea as well.

Scott kicked Stiles’ shin to get him moving before Stiles’ walked as calmly as possibly to retrieve his food. The first thing that hit him was the smell – the scent of freshly baked carrot cake, heavy with cinnamon and walnuts, the frosting melting from the steam.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, inhaling as deeply as possibly. “Jesus.”

Derek’s chuckle made Stiles’ eyes fly open (which had closed despite Stiles’ attempt to not look like an idiot).  “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Yes. Do,” Stiles responded, eyeing the steam coming from the cake. “Did this just come out of the oven?” He glanced at Derek’s face, who was staring right back with honey eyes.

Derek shrugged before adverting his gaze. “Tell me what you think,” he said before disappearing again.

Stiles was left to stare dumbly at the space where Derek had stood before taking his tray back to Scott, who was just finishing up. One quick sniff and Scott’s eyes lit up again. “Is that… _fresh_?”

Stiles glared at him. “ _Mine,_ ” he all but growled.

“The cake or the chef?” Scott quipped, and if Stiles wasn’t flushing so furiously he’d actually be kinda proud of Scott.

“Both?” Stiles joked back uneasily, hoping Derek didn’t some sort of super-hearing.

 “According to Allison, he’s single, if that helps,” Scott mentioned, while giving the _how-does-my-girlfriend-know-so-much-about-this-guy_ face.

“Not helpful,” Stiles mumble decidedly as he finally lifted a forkful of his dessert to his mouth. He honestly was drooling a little by the time he clamped down on the fork, removing the utensil to let the cake melt in his tongue. Slowly, Stiles worked his jaw, barely biting as the cake was so soft and moist. The icing was sweet to perfection, just the way Stiles had hoped, and the walnuts added just the right flavour to deserve a wow-factor.

“Stiles?”

“Mm!” Stiles responded, having to open his eyes again (god he had to stop doing that).

“So… Whaddya think?”

“Lord,” Stiles muttered, hating himself a little bit for what he was about to do. “Open up,” he sighed, offering a forkful to Scott, who immediately perked up.

“Oh my.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“ _Yeah.”_

“You know, if you asked him out, and, like, you guys started dating or whatever, you could have this _all the time_."

Stiles scrambled to slap his hand over his supposed friend’s mouth. “Could you be any louder!” he harshly whispered. Scott spent quite the next little while laughing at his friend, who was still trying to enjoy the delicious slice in front of him.

When they finished, Scott surveyed Stiles as he returned the tray with the dish and empty mug on it. Derek had come back out to clean up and Stiles barely formed a coherent sentence of “thank you” and “it was delicious”. Scott got up to save his friend from embarrassment, but Derek passed a note to Stiles before the younger boy blushed. Derek then said something, making Stiles laugh, apologize, and blush harder. From Derek’s grin, whatever Stiles said didn’t really need an apology. Derek nodded as Stiles said goodbye.

“See ya soon, Scott,” Derek called with a wave before disappearing into the kitchen,

“Yeah,” Scott responded, looking at Stiles quizzically. Stiles headed for the door, leaving Scott to chase his ride home. “What was that about?” He asked curiously.

“He handed me this,” Stiles offered a business card before flipping it around to reveal Derek’s scrawl on the back.

“His cell?”

“Mmhmm,” Stiles hummed happily. “Said that if I, oh I don’t know, asked him out and we started dating, or _whatever_ (as Stiles pointedly stared at Scott) that he could bake for me, all the time.”

“Dude, I am the best wingman ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would greatly appreciate any feedback/kudos or to meet any of you lovely folk! And remember, feel free to comment with an occupation you'd like to see Derek in! I post my own works/updates as well as recs on [sterek--smut.tumblr.com](http://sterek--smut.tumblr.com) so come say hi! ♥


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